


Little Offenses

by DawnsEternalLight



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Bonding, Bugs, Damian acting his age, Family, Family Bonding, Fluff, Gen, Humor, No Slash, Sibling Bonding, Snuggling, This is pure fluff, Tim is tired of getting picked on, jason is a bad influence, siblings picking on each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2018-11-06 04:47:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11028927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnsEternalLight/pseuds/DawnsEternalLight
Summary: Damian doesn't always act his age, and sometimes it takes a little push from his family, a push that teaches him exactly how to pick on his siblings in the very best way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a message from identityconstellations on Tumblr

Damian felt pressure on his feet, and he kicked forward just a little bit, enjoying the irritated grunt he received in response before adjusting his sketchbook on his lap.

“I won’t ask again, Demon Spawn.” Came Tim’s exasperated tone. “Move. Your. Feet.”

The pressure kicked forward, jarring Damian and sending a deep line of pencil across his page marring the sketch. The boy scowled at his notebook then remembered Todd’s advice. This would be an excellent opportunity to try it.

His brother sat opposite him on the couch, and Damian looked up into his eyes for a moment before he smirked, sticking his tongue out at Drake. It was a perfect moment of gloating before he turned his attention back to the page before him, spinning the pencil in his hand to its opposite end so he could remove the offending line.

A beat of silence passed before Drake sputtered, his legs pulling towards himself and relieving the minor pressure they’d had on Damian’s. “What was that?”

Damian maintained his silence forcing his brother to try again. “Damian. What on earth?”

When Damian didn’t answer again the weight on the couch shifted, Tim leaning forward, his hand pressing Damian’s book out of the way so he could make eye contact himself. Tim’s irritation was evident in his frown.

Damian grinned at him and stuck his tongue out again. Tim’s brows furrowed.

“That,” He said, and Damian could practically see the veins throbbing in irritation in his brothers head, “was rude.”

“What was rude?”

Damian craned his head backwards to see Grayson walking in. The older man frowned at them.

“Does Damian have something on his face?” He asked.

Tim scowled, flopping back to his end of the couch. “Yeah. A rude look. Go ahead Demon Brat. Show Dick and see what he thinks of your little joke.”

“Damian.” Dick’s tone held a note of warning.

“It is nothing that bad Grayson. Simply a technique to irritate Drake.” Damian leveled a glare at Tim.

“Show me.” Dick said.

Damian rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out at his brother. Dick’s entire countenance changed. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open before pressing back together like a gate snapping shut against a grin.

“I was expecting more from you, Grayson.” Damian said.

His brother covered the distance between them in a few steps before leaning over to smother Damian in a hug. The boy squawked with outrage but couldn’t find a way to escape as he was pressed into the couch.

“Unhand me at once!” He snapped.

“Damian. That was adorable. Show me again?” Dick said, pulling away. His phone had ended up in his hand. “I want to send a picture to Steph. She’d love it too.”

“I will not.” Damian declared. “It is not cute, Grayson. It is a tactical device for overcoming difficulties.”

“What it is,” Dick said. “is the best thing I’ve seen in forever. Now please, show me again.” He waved the phone as if it could convince Damian to repeat his action.

The boy crossed his arms and glared. He was going to kill Todd the next time he saw him. With the exception of Drake his plan was backfiring. Instead of striking fear or irritation into the people around him it inspired a desire for pictures and sharing.

“Come on, Little D. It’s not often I get to see you act your age.” Dick tried again.

He would definitely be having words with Todd the next time he saw him. “One time.” Damian relented. “On the condition you tell me where Todd is right now.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian's attempts to irritate Tim failed last time, but Jason promises this next one will work perfectly, they just have to try it out on Dick first.

“You are certain that this time it will work?” Damian asks without looking at Jason.

His attention is focused entirely on his oldest brother. The man is seated in the kitchen engrossed in something on his phone, while a bowl, empty of everything but sugary milk, rests forgotten on the counter in front of him. Damian had been hesitant to try the plan on Grayson, he prefers to pick on his other siblings, but Todd had a point. If he could bring Grayson to irritation then he could successfully get back at Drake for last week’s pasta incident.

“I promise, Tater Tot, it’ll work or I’ll give B a hug.” Jason answers.

“A bear hug.”

“A bear hug.” Jason promises and, without waiting, steps into the kitchen.

Damian knows what to do. He pulls back away from the wall and waits. He waits through Grayson’s small talk and Todd’s brief answers. He taps his toe as he listens to Todd rummage through the refrigerator and take out a tupperware of food before heating it up and at last sitting down on a stool. He gives it another sixty seconds, watching the thin hand tick it’s way across the face of his watch and then he moves.

He walks into the kitchen and he makes a beeline for the teapot. Grayson looks up from his phone and smiles, one hand leaves the phone to wave and Damian nods. He then brews himself a cup of earl grey, spoons sugar into the cup, and sits down. He is across from Todd, Grayson sandwiched between them.

Damian starts small. He clinks the silver of his spoon against the rim of his teacup over and over with every rotation. He continues stirring long after all the sugar molecules have dissolved.

_Clink_

_Clink_

_Clink_

Grayson glances at Damian, an eyebrow raised, but he does not speak. Not yet. Damian pulls the spoon out of the cup and sets it on the saucer. He takes a sip and Dick looks away. The moment his brother’s attention returns to his phone Damian begins to tap the spoon against the saucer. His finger tap tap taping on the raised end of the spoon, pushing it down onto the counter beneath. The double sound of metal on counter then on ceramic dances out a staccato beat Damian associates with Drake’s nervous tendencies.

He makes it a solid minute before Dick’s voice, gentle and restrained gives him pause. 

“Dames.”

“Yes, Grayson?” The spoon is still resting on the table.

“Is something bothering you?” His eyes have trailed up from his screen to frown at Damian.

He shakes his head. “Just thinking about a project Pennyworth assigned to me.”

Dick nods and his eyes go back to the phone, his finger gently swiping up. He is reading a Kathy Reichs novel. Damian knows because Grayson would not stop talking about the series. Why he would want to read about murders when he helped solve them was beyond Damian, but he’d been reading them non-stop for a week.

Damian feels slightly bad about hindering his reading, but only slightly, he is having too much fun. From across the table Todd’s suppressed grin pushes Damian to go further. He scoots his stool, making sure the somewhat warn padded legs scrape against the floor beneath him. Grayson does not move. Damian scoots the chair forward a bit then back and forward a tiny bit before forward twice again in jerking motions.

Grayson clears his throat and Damian scoots the chair one last time. He lifts his teacup when Grayson looks back over at him, and takes an innocent sip before pulling out his own phone to look over.

He allows a minute of silence, a brief reprieve, and then he reaches out and absently tilts the half empty cup and rotates it on its end. The unfinished bottom scrapes against the saucer beneath like nails on a chalkboard.

This time Damian doesn’t bother to look up at Grayson. He focuses on his phone, having pulled up a mindless game he can swipe at single handedly. He holds back a grin as Grayson clicks his phone off and attempts a conversation with Todd. Something about plans for the day and it being unusual for Jason to be at the manor at that time of day.

The whole time Damian continues to turn the cup every so often letting it slide across the ceramic in a screaming slash of noise. Grayson cuts off mid-sentence at the third scrape, fumbling to find the next word, and Damian believes he has won. Yet Grayson persists in his conversation. So, Damian double scrapes the cup, once then twice making a noise that even his ears rail against.

“Damian.” Dick turns to him now, his voice clipped, and Damian resists the urge to flinch. “Is there maybe something you need to be doing?”  

He shrugs, noncommittal, his eyes are still on his phone. Grayson’s hand pushes the phone down and Damian tries his best to give his brother the most innocent of questioning looks.

“Is something the matter, Grayson?”

Dick’s lips purse for a moment and Damian watches the struggle behind his eyes. He reels in the urge to snap and bites back impatient words. “What are you up to?” he asks instead as suspicion replaces irritation.

Damian’s eyes flash to Todd and Grayson’s sharp intake of breath tells him that he has been caught.

“You planned this! The two of you!” There is no disguising the note of betrayal in Dick’s voice as his eyes dart between Damian and Jason.

Todd grins, Cheshire bright ,and Damian can no longer hold back his own smile. Grayson is standing now, lips puckered and hands braced on the back of his stool.

“Jason I can understand, but you Damian? I thought you were better than that.” Dick looks honestly hurt.  

Damian is at a loss for what to say in answer. He had not meant to really hurt Grayson’s feelings. He scoots his chair back a bit, unsure of how to explain.

Jason shrugs from his place at the other end of the table, his grin even wider. “Face it Dickie, Damian likes me better than you, especially since I give the best advice.”

Grayson steps around the stool to be closer to Damian. “The best advice? For picking on brothers?”

Dick steps closer, and if Damian weren’t so flustered he might have noticed the smile pressing through Grayson’s dimples. He missed it, and so when he finds himself snatched up under Grayson’s arm and being tickled the only thing he can do is laugh.

He is kicking and pushing at Grayson’s arm now, the older man tickling him mercilessly, “If you’re going to act like a kid, I’ll treat you like one.” He’s laughing.

“No, no, _hahahaha,_ Gray-son!” Damian’s heaving in breaths to stop the mad giggles, “Todd,” Damian wheezes. “Your,  _hehehehe,_  assistance is,  _haha,_ required!”

Jason is already up and his glance at Dick has nothing to do with helping Damian, instead he takes the boy from Dick’s arms and hoists him up so that Dick can tickle him with both hands. Damian’s squawk of outrage at the betrayal only lasts as long as it takes for the giggles to start back up. He only hopes that when he tries his newest irritating technique on Drake it does not end the same. Though, even then he may not be opposed to the results.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim has an unexpected surprise before bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a post Unavenged-Robin tagged me in on Tumblr

Tim waited exactly 45 minutes after Bruce checked in on him, and Alfred confirmed he was indeed in bed and resting his bummed-out ankle before he cracked one eye open. He had given them time to check on him, and for Bruce to do his double-check he liked to perform when he thought Tim might be keen on working late. He’d even given Dick time to slouch in to make sure he was resting comfortably.

He was certain he was in the clear to open his laptop and get started on the cold case he’d just found a lead on (the one that he’d twisted his ankle because of, and the one he’d been expressly forbidden to work on during the evening hours because apparently rest helped stupid ankles heal faster). He reached an arm over to the nightstand to pull his computer off it and frowned as his hand met wood.

He turned and glared at the shape of the stand before deciding either Alfred or Bruce must have moved it as a deterrent. That was fine, he could get up and find it. It wasn’t like he was overly comfortable in his bed, wrapped in his blankets that had just reached optimum snuggling temperature. He could wrap himself in a blanket to ward off the outside chill, find his laptop, and be back under the blankets before they’d cooled back to just a little too chilly.

Then again he could always just drag the entire comforter with him. It was a tempting thought, but then Tim remembered he’d have to either risk freezing as he slept from tangled sheets or bother with putting his whole bed back together and he was too tired and too ready to work for either of those things, so he threw the blankets back and mumbled, “Yolo.” Before reaching over to click his light on.

He’d managed to swing his legs out of his bed before the shadow on the wall made him blink. It was an odd, distorted kind of oblong with wisps that he’d never seen before. All thoughts of laptops and returning to snuggly blankets left his mind as he knuckled his eyes. He was tired after all, and the blob was probably a piece of fluff stuck to one of his eyelashes.

But it wasn’t. That was clear enough the moment his eyes focused back on the splotch. More than that he was pretty sure the shadow just moved. That little wispy appendage hadn’t been as close to the other one the last time he’d looked.

The bed groaned as he pushed himself off of it, seeming to say ‘Come back to bed, Tim. You’re tired, and in the morning the shadow will turn out to be a coffee stain you’ll have to explain to Alfred or paint over.’

His ankle tried to remind him that it was swollen and angry. That he should stay in bed, keep it elevated. And he would have listened, to both the siren song of laying back down, and to his injury, but he was on a quest now. He was either going crazy (and probably should have listened to his guardians about resting) or there was something going on.

He padded over to the wall, careful on his foot, and squinted at the wall. If it was a coffee stain he’d find out. He put his hand to it, to see if any sticky sugar was left over and found nothing. Then he leaned forward and sniffed, coming back with only the vaguest scent of paint left over from the last time he’d had to fix a hole in the wall, which he never should have been held responsible for, it was Damian’s fault. He’d been the one to follow Tim into his room, his sanctuary, whining about who knew what, but was probably case or ineptitude related—He was getting off topic. 

This wasn’t about Damian but the wall. Back to it and the splotch. It wasn’t coffee, and it wasn’t painted on, so it must actually be a shadow, which meant it was coming from somewhere else in the room. He spun on his heel, his eyes raking the room from the window to his bed and the lamp.

The lamp with a—Tim didn’t want to think it let alone say it. But the blob. The oblong appendage-y mass was a bug. Not just a bug but a cockroach. One of those huge, ugly, nasty ones that probably flew and made him squirm when he saw them in the cave and made him cast an impatient look up to the bats as if to say, ‘why didn’t you deal with this already?’

“Man.” He whined, and stared at it, because it too could just be a trick.

It was on the inside of the lampshade, and ugh what if it had dropped onto his hand when he’d turned the light on? He would have yelled and woken up the house, then had to explain that it was a stupid bug and not a burglar breaking in—and he was too tired for this. It still could just be an unwanted blob of peanut butter or something.

Then it moved. Its legs shifted and it’s whole body skittered to the side and Tim had to shove his fist into his mouth to stop from yelping.

Tim didn’t hate roaches. He understood they had a certain significance to the environment. That they were creatures to share the world with. That they did something useful. He could respect their place in the world. What they weren’t was welcome in his room. His place. They did not belong in his space, that was an invasion of everything he felt comfortable with. 

He had to get it out, but the last thing he wanted to do was touch it. He could respect bugs, but that didn’t mean he had to handle them.

Besides, he couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that there was a roach in his room. Not simply because it was his room, but because Alfred would not allow it. The man was meticulous, and, as messy as Tim could be at his worst, he still kept things clean enough that no bugs could get in.

So, what was this thing doing crawled all the way up onto his lamp? Tim couldn’t figure it out, but the thing was shifting around inside the shade now, it's legs pattering against the plastic inside. Tim knew it was only a matter of time before the disgusting creature slipped over the edge of it and into full view. The possibilities of where it would go after that were not pleasant.

He grabbed up a sock from the floor beside him, it was better than touching it with his fingers, and he could always burn it later. Then he inched towards the lamp. His brain told him it was silly to inch his way over to a lamp where an insignificant bug was resting, but it was late and he was tired, and he had about a hundred and six things to get back to. Namely curling beneath his warm blankets and putting his ankle back up on a pillow. Great now he couldn’t stop the image of a bug from crawling up into the blankets with him— he had to deal with it now.

His hand shot under the lampshade. Lightning quick he smashed the sock against the roach, almost putting a hole in the shade in the proccess. He scooped it into a ball, and pulled the sock back out to stare at it. 

After a breath, he peeled back the folds of sock to make sure he’d actually killed the creature. Wrapped and slightly rumpled in the sock was not a roach. Well it was a roach, but not a living breathing, or almost dead roach. Tim reached in and poked it, the feeling of plastic pressing against his fingertip. He flipped it over to find a small, seam in the bottom where the bug was put together.

There was no question in his mind about who had put the bug in his room, or their intention. Damian. No one else would attempt to spook Tim this late at night. What he couldn’t figure out was how? The light had been on before Bruce had come in, and Tim knew for a fact the bug had not been there then. Bruce would have mentioned it, and Tim wasn’t so tired he wouldn’t have noticed. 

Neither had it been there when Alfred came in, and found Tim strategically reading. He’d learned that if he put on the appearances of not attempting to work his family was far less suspicious of him later on. He had accepted Alfred’s warning look, put the book away, and clicked his light out, watching the butler smile as he did so. 

Had it been when Dick had come in to check on him? Damian had not been Dick, head heard the man’s voice, felt his hand on his hair. Damian wouldn’t go that far for this prank. Tim also didn’t think that Dick would let Damian join him on his check up. Which meant some time in the time after that he’d snuck in and planted the bug. Or he’d been there all along, waiting for his chance. 

Tim took a closer look at the bug in the light of the lamp. There was no camera on it that he could find, neither could he locate any microphone. Which meant if Damian wanted to learn Tim’s reaction he’d be in the room for it. 

He listened, unwilling to turn suddenly. No sound yet, but if he shifted, like he was taking the weight off his ankle, he might--

“Hey!” he shouted as a flash of black and blue darted towards his door, the sock and fake roach within it dropping without another thought. 

Tim didn’t think, he dove after Damian, catching the boy’s ankles and dragging them both to the ground with an oomph. He had a feeling his own ankle would be furious at him in a moment, but he didn’t care. 

Damian squirmed away, and Tim lunged again, catching him around the middle as they boy made to move.

“Nuh uh, brat. You’ll get what’s coming.” Tim said, teeth grit. 

“Release me, Drake.” Damian hissed, “You will only worsen your ankle.” 

“And whose fault will that be? Not mine.” Tim shot back.

His brother kicked out, catching Tim in the stomach, and shocking him enough to let him go. He scrambled to his feet, panting and glared down at Tim. 

He could have left it that way. Should have. But Tim was tired, and grumpy, and Damian had just put a freakin roach in his room. Fake or not he wasn’t letting the kid get away with that for long. What had he even been thinking? What’s the point in trying to scare him? Tim didn’t think he’d done anything recently to earn the kid’s ire.

So he moved, swept Damian’s feet right out from under his unsuspecting little face and watched as the kid tumbled. He enjoyed the second of shock on Damian’s face for a beat before he landed with a cry.

Tim was ready to defend against whatever retaliation Damian might attempt, but he didn’t move right away. When he did it was to curl on his side for a second before sitting up, his elbow tucked against his stomach. His face was red and Tim was afraid for a moment that he’d cry. 

Instead he leveled a glare at him, “You didn’t even yell.” he said, like he was trying to continue their wrestling with words, “What kind of idiot doesn’t yell at a roach?” he sniffed, and reset his glare.

“Sorry.” Tim said, and he wasn’t sure if he was apologizing for the fact that he hadn't’ screamed or that he’d managed to actually hurt Damian, “Did you scrape your elbow?” 

“As a result of your idiocy yes. Not that it’s any of your concern.” Damian huffed, hand shifting against his arm, as if he were afraid Tim was going to drag it forward and--what, put salt on it? 

“Damian, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have dragged you back down. It was dumb.” Tim said, “For the record, I was scared.” 

“Todd is a fool.” 

That was from left field, and beyond Tim’s understanding, resulting in his answer of, “What?” 

Damian rolled his eyes, “I do not know why I continue to follow the man’s advice. His suggestions have so far only resulted in lackluster results.” 

_ You listen because you look up to him. _ Tim thought,  _ because you think he’s cool, and the two of you can bond over things that we can’t. Like dying. Like killing. Like other less terrible things. _ He didn’t tell Damian any of that, he wouldn’t tell him. Damian would recoil from that like a dog that had just been bit. He’d hate it even more that Tim was the one to point it out. 

Instead he gave a hollow laugh, “Jason’s the worst at pranks. He’s too honest.” 

“And who would you suggest? Grayson?” Damian asked. 

Tim shook his head, “The best pranker in the family is Cass, hands down.” 

“Cain is out of town.” Damian huffed.

“Don’t ask Steph.” Tim said, “She’ll go overboard and it won’t be good, and Dick won’t help you prank Jason, not after the china incident.” 

Damian flushed slightly, “Another of Todd’s idiotic ideas. Grayson is still irritated about that.” 

“So you’ve got me.” Tim himself was surprised he was offering.

He had been on the butt end of more than one prank already. Except, he kept glancing at Damian’s red elbow. And he couldn’t stop thinking about how Damian had gone to Jason and not him for help planning pranks. He could be a good big brother for once, he just needed a chance. 

Damian considered him, before lowering his arm. “You are not planning to turn this on me are you?” 

Tim knew they hadn’t been meant to hurt, but Damian’s words stung a little. Neither of them had tried hard enough to get along. What if Damian’s pranking had been his own way of reaching out? Nothing he’d done had been really hurtful, it was all more playful than that. They just didn’t know how to talk to each other like normal people. Maybe this was a good place to start.

“Not a chance.” Tim told him, “Jason’s set you on me twice now, it’s about time I helped get him back.” 

Damian grinned at him, “Alright, Drake. Let’s see how good your pranking is.” 


End file.
